


Driver

by CuddlerOfDragons



Series: Deserving Of Hell? [1]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 13:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20797022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuddlerOfDragons/pseuds/CuddlerOfDragons
Summary: First in a series of stand alone short stories, featuring Hell.  Canon-ish.





	Driver

He loved heroin and Delilah, in that order.

His life was a cliché. Eighteen years old, he’d been living on the streets since his step-father kicked him out at fifteen, after his mother’s death. _(‘Now **she** ain’t here to pay your way, you can git.’) _Like he’d want to _stay_ with the old bastard.

Unfortunately for him, there were a lot of old bastards in his future but at least they paid well - back alleys and bathroom stalls - enough for him to get high, get him away from reality for a while, to help him forget.

Then he got a job working for Eddie. Eddie was great, got him off the street and onto a moth-eaten sofa in a squat and all _he _had to do was deliver.

So, he had his burner phone and baggies of product and Eddie to tell him where and when and five percent of the take and the rest went to Eddie, who, presumably, took _his _percentage and then what was left went further up the chain but he’d never cared about that…

He played straight, never skimming, always paying for his own stuff - blissful oblivion at the end of each night - Eddie trusted him. His life was almost good.

Delilah.

He loved her from afar, as the sappy romances would have it but, occasionally, he had to make a delivery to her. Voice of an angel and a nature to match, she never treated him bad, never looked down on him for what he did; even signed him an autograph. He had it laminated and kept it with him, gazed at it in wonder - adoring the little heart she drew over the ’i’ - on his sofa, after work. Part of his routine, before his longed for hit, needle sliding into his vein…

***

Someone's kicking his sofa. He looks up, focusing his eyes. Eddie.

“Where’s Petey?” Eddie demands.

“Dunno.”

“I need a driver, he’s not answering his phone.”

“I c’n drive.” He says, pulling on a tee shirt.

“I’d rather it was Petey.”

“Fuck you.”

Eddie looks at his watch, it’s new, looks expensive.

“Alright, I don’t have time to argue, you drive.” He hands him a baggie of powder. “For after.”

“Okay.”

He’s never seen the car before and Eddie sits in the back like a rich asshole.

“Slow down as we go by Lux.” Eddie says, holding up a camera phone. “I need to get pictures.”

“Okay.” He likes Lux, although he’s never been inside, Delilah used to work there, before she was famous. The club _owner _‘discovered’ her; it says so in her bio.

He slows the car and Eddie’s got his window down and who should _he_ see but Delilah, being embraced by a man - lucky bastard, he thinks - before he hears the shots and the man and Delilah both go down in a shower of broken glass and Eddie’s waving a gun and telling him to drive away and he’s so shocked he wants to stamp on the brake but hits the accelerator instead and when the impact comes he’s almost _glad_.

The only blood on _him _is Eddie’s and there’s a gurgling noise coming from the back seat but he doesn’t hang around to find out how bad it is. The man is getting to his feet but Delilah will never move again, he can see that, as he runs. She’ll never smile at him as she takes her bag of pills and hands him his cash; she’s gone forever and that bastard Eddie made _him_ a part of it.

No wonder he’d wanted Petey.

Back at his place, scrubbing the tears from eyes, he looks at the precious autograph, remembers her tinkling laugh as she signed it…

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t know…” He pushes the plunger and the syringe empties into his vein - his reward for helping in her murder - and the stuff’s lethally pure and he’s gone into the dark before he even realizes…

***

Someone's kicking his sofa. He looks up, focusing his eyes. Eddie.

“Where’s Petey?” Eddie demands.

“Dunno.”

“I need a driver, he’s not answering his phone.”

“I c’n drive.” He says, pulling on a tee shirt.

“I’d rather it was Petey.”

“Fuck you.”

Eddie looks at his watch, it’s new, looks expensive…


End file.
